


Prospect

by wearemany



Series: Rookies [7]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2013-2014 NHL Season, Bondage, Kink Negotiation, Los Angeles Kings, M/M, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearemany/pseuds/wearemany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I could do that for you,” Martin says. “If it’s not just about Mike, if it’s what you want—”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Tanner says, “Okay,” sliding from the edge of the bed, onto the floor. On his knees.</i></p><p> </p><p>Or: five times Martin Jones tries to make Tanner Pearson talk about having sex with Mike Richards, and one time he doesn’t need to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prospect

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you write something fake about real people and then real life trumps your fake ideas? Turns out Pearson moved into Jones’ house a while back, but as this picks up immediately after [Two-Way Player](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1412338), and I didn’t know that then, either, I ignored it here as well. Congratulations, Kings, on continuing to be more ridiculous than even we can imagine. 
> 
> Set roughly mid-March.
> 
> Thanks again to Sinsense for making all the dirty parts that much better.

 

 

> _We are in someone else’s hands in everything we do, but how often are any of us in hands that know us so well? Hands that insist we be as good as we can be, that tolerate nothing else, hands we trust. (Ken Dryden)_

1.

Martin runs into Tanner in the hotel lobby, and Tanner doesn’t even see him coming. Tanner’s got his head up like any smart hockey player, but he’s just gliding towards the elevators on autopilot. Martin stops him with a palm in the middle of his chest and Tanner blinks out of it, says loosely, “Oh, hey, hey Joner.”

His mouth is swollen, scratched up around his lips. “You just getting back from Mike’s house?” Martin asks, not because it’s not obvious but because he’s not sure Tanner knows how obvious. Tanner should know that much, should know that he’s walking around looking like a guy who’s spent some serious time getting his face scrubbed raw by another guy’s two-day beard.

Tanner smiles, slow and easy. Not with swagger, but something quieter. Calmer. “Yeah,” he says. Nothing else about what he’s been up to for the six hours since he bailed on them for an apparently epic hookup.

Martin says, “I drove Toff back and we hung out a while.” Actually it was more like Tyler sucked Martin off, and then Martin did it back, but if they’re not in a sharing mood he doesn’t need to tell Tanner that.

Tanner nods agreeably. “Nice,” he says. He runs a hand through his hair and yawns. “See you at practice, yeah?” He smiles again, knocks his knuckles against Martin’s shoulder as he heads to the elevators.

It’s only a little after seven. Martin says, “Good night, Pears.”

 

2.

After practice, Martin sinks into one of the couches to eat breakfast number two, Lucky Charms and almond milk. Tanner sits down next to him with a contented sigh and three pieces of wheat toast. They don’t talk for a while, just chewing and watching Lewie and Muzz half-ass a game of table tennis.

Tanner still has that aura of calm hovering around him. He’s never been the most hyper guy on the team, either here or back in Manch, but it’s still rare enough that Martin’s a little unsettled by it.

“You good?” he asks finally, tilting his shoulder into Tanner’s.

Tanner says, “Yup.”

Martin cranes around a little to get a good look at his face and Tanner grins, and goes bright red. Then he rolls his eyes at himself.

“I’m good,” he insists, sounding a little more shy about it now. It’s only because Martin’s looking that he sees a tiny wince when Tanner pushes himself up to his feet.

Could be anything, really, after an hour of practice and another hour on the machines. Could just be tight muscles after a good hard workout.  But Tanner blushes again as he heads toward the showers, and Martin knows he’s sore from sex, from whatever it is Mike did to him that Tanner won’t talk about.

Must have been good if he’s still smiling even when it hurts. Must’ve really been something.

 

3.

From Martin’s spot at the far end of the bench, he can usually see the smooth back of Tanner’s neck during the American anthem.

Everybody’s got their little ritual, a twitch or a side-step to keep the blood moving, the brain alert. For guys used to going out every couple of minutes, forty-five seconds at a time, always sliding back and forth to make room for whoever’s coming back—the pre-game stuff probably feels like forever.

Tanner doesn’t do that. He stays as still as anyone Martin’s ever seen. He props his gloves on his stick, bowing his forehead to his hands. Somewhere before the song ends he raises his chin and stares straight forward. Then he plays.

He was always great to watch in Manch, chasing after the other guy towards Martin or, even better, bearing down on a breakaway towards the other end. But he’s coming into his own here with L.A. Martin can see it, and he knows the coaches can, too, just based on minutes played. Tanner’s so fucking fast, that extra weight he fights so hard to keep toned and lean working with physics for a change instead of against it.

At second intermission, Tanner’s got his head ducked between his knees, still breathing hard from a late shift. Martin hasn’t broken a sweat since warmups tonight, and probably won’t need to. He reminds himself that’s for the best.

Mike walks by, stopping close to Tanner. If they were outside on a frozen day, the steam between them would mingle into one hot cloud. “Watch that snow shower in the crease,” Mike says, and Tanner looks up. “Stupid fucking rule but they’ll get you on it some day.”

Martin would rather get sprayed than laid out with a skate in his face any time. But Mike’s right about the refs, and with Tanner’s speed his sudden stops have the added disadvantage of looking showy.

Tanner opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, just like he probably would if an official called a penalty on that bullshit. Mike’s chin comes up sharp and Tanner’s shoulders slide right down, soft and agreeable. “Okay,” he says, and flushes. Mike leaves it at that.

After the game, Martin and Tanner are alone for a minute, waiting for Tyler so they can all share a car back to the west side.

Martin says, “Are you and Mike...”

“Are we what?” Tanner’s voice is steady, unbothered. Whatever they are, he’s not confused about it.

“I don’t know,” Martin admits. He’s not sure what he’s trying to ask. “Together?”

Tanner says, “No.” After a minute he adds, “Not like that, no.”

Tyler runs up, hair still wet, and jumps onto Tanner’s back. Martin wrangles them both into the SUV.

 

4.

They eat lunch at a place right on the water, ordering a platter with ten tacos and a bucket of Corona Light. Halfway through, Martin says, “So what else are you doing with your day off?”

Tanner shrugs, scooping up a breaded piece of fish that fell to his plate and shoving it in his mouth. He licks at the river of grease and sauce running between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re not going to Mike’s?” Tanner got a goal last night, but they lost to Phoenix, so there wasn’t any celebrating.

Tanner wipes at his hand with a paper napkin, then his face, then takes a long drink of beer. “I told you, it’s not a thing,” he says finally. Tanner finishes his beer and shoves his dirty plate to the edge of the table. “You don’t tell me about every time you get laid.”

“Yeah, but you—”

“What?”

“You’re so calm about it. Like that night, last week—you looked like you’d been run over by a fucking truck but you were—”

He’s like that now, quietly watching as Martin keeps making a mess.

“You were all zen about it,” Martin says. “Settled.” He takes a deep breath. He’s usually the calm one. He’s usually the calm one, the one who waits and watches, but for some reason this has been driving him fucking insane.

Tanner leans back, stretches out one arm over the chair next to him. “So you’re worried because I went over to Richie’s and came back relaxed?”

“I’m not worried,” Martin says. “I wasn’t ever worried.”

“You can’t—this thing doesn’t work if you’re gonna get all possessive,” Tanner says, and he sounds a little hurt about it, upset he has to spell it out. “It’s not supposed to be—”

“That’s not it,” Martin insists. That’s not quite it. Not quite.

The bus boy comes over to clear their plates and the waitress checks in right after. Martin orders them both more beer. Tanner lets him.

It’s been a couple minutes since they said anything to each other when Tanner sighs. He folds his arms and leaning on the table. “Have you ever used a cock ring?” he asks.

Martin blinks. “Uh, no?” He doesn’t mean that to be a question, so he asks another one. “Does it—I always wondered if it hurts.”

Tanner shakes his head. “Not in a bad way, more like—it’s really frustrating, and then you kind of forget. And then—” His lip lifts, a tiny smirk almost, all sure of himself again. “I don’t know, then it’s pretty great.”

“Jesus,” Martin says. “That’s what he did?”

Tanner says, “Yeah. Plus he tied me up.”

Martin’s hearing goes white, a blank roar.

Tanner blushes but otherwise stays steady and unmoving. “I asked him to,” Tanner adds.

It sounds muffled, underwater, until Martin’s senses come rushing back. Then it echoes in a loud loop: _asked him to asked him to asked him to tie me up tie me up tie me up._

Martin says the first thing that pops into his head, just to shut that voice up. “He had rope, what, lying around his house?”

And Tanner laughs, loud and surprised. “He has a boat, right?”

“Back home,” Martin says pointedly, and Tanner laughs some more, wheezing with it until he snorts. He claps a hand over his face, like somehow that’s the only part he’s embarrassed by. Maybe it is.

Tanner says, still chuckling, “I don’t know, I didn’t ask,” and tells him how Mike pulled the cock ring out of a dresser drawer but then acted like he’d forgotten he even owned it.

“You think it was for him or someone else?” Martin asks.

“I definitely didn’t ask that,” Tanner says.

They drink the rest of the beer. Bitch about how embarrassing it was to be the only team that couldn’t solve the Leafs. Debate whether to go see Divergent.

Muzz calls, and they meet the guys for dinner instead of going to the movie. It’s a whole day off spent drinking and eating and talking shit when probably he should have at least done laundry, but at the end of the night Tanner slings an arm around his neck and declares it the most fun he’s had in weeks.

Martin goes to sleep smiling. Thinking.

 

5.

“I wanna talk to you,” Martin says, grabbing Tanner by the arm as they leave practice.  Back at the hotel, he follows Tanner to his room.

Door closed, curtains open, bed neatly made by housekeeping. Martin snuck off once in junior to a hotel downtown to have sex with a woman he met at a coffeeshop, and it looked a lot like this, sunny and illicit.

Tanner sits down on the bed. “What’s up?” he asks. It sounds reasonable the way he asks it.

Martin pulls the desk chair over in front of Tanner so they’re facing each other. It’s maybe too serious a set-up, but he’s being serious. He says, “I could do that for you.”

Tanner doesn’t ask what, but Martin wants to be clear. He needs to be clear.

“What Mike did,” he says. “I could tie you up.”

Tanner clears his throat, like he’s about to do an interview. “It’s not really about—it’s more that I like it when—” He squares his shoulders, sitting up straight. “I like being restrained,” he says with just a tiny quiver, like the words are new, even if the feeling isn’t.

Martin says, steady and sure, “I could do that.”

They sit there for a minute, staring at each other. Martin wishes he was sitting on the bed next to Tanner, but he doesn’t want to move now. It’s Tanner’s call.

“Have you ever even done that?” Tanner asks.

“Had you?”

Tanner inhales, fast and shallow, and Martin knows the answer is no, or not really.  

“But you want to again,” Martin says.

Tanner looks at him, long and skeptical, and now Martin feels like he’s the one facing a camera crew.

“I liked it,” Tanner says, quiet, resolute.

He doesn’t sound desperate for it, and Martin’s pretty sure now he gets the rest: Mike did this to Tanner, somehow made him realize how much he liked it. And Mike’s a good guy—he’s team, he’s quiet, and careful, and by all accounts fucking skilled in the sack. He’s not going to let Tanner run off to some stranger in chaps.

But Mike and Tanner aren’t together. And, anyway, Martin isn’t trying to be Mike. He just wants Tanner to have more of what he wants. He wants to be more of what Tanner wants.

“I liked how you wanted me to hold you down,” Martin says. “How you let me. Remember?”

After Ben got traded to Edmonton and Martin was called up again, Tyler and Tanner ambushed him. Locked him away in a room, stole his clothes, announced their intentions to properly welcome him to the permanent roster. After Tyler and Tanner took turns sucking him off, Tyler watched as Martin fucked Tanner, Tanner pushing up hard into Martin’s grip and moaning louder every time it got him nowhere.

“I know it’s not quite the same,” Martin says, “but maybe we were both trying to figure something out.”

Tanner says, “Oh,” sharp and low.

Martin shifts his weight in his chair. He says, “I spend so much time waiting. And watching. Whether I’m on the ice or on the bench or—wherever. When it’s my turn, no matter what else has happened, whether I start or come in for five minutes, it’s all on me. And I have to hold all that, hold everything, just hold it in and do my job.”

He leans forward, risking a hand on Tanner’s knee.

“Doing all that makes me calm, too. When I saw you that night, after you came back from Mike’s—you looked quiet, like how I feel out there.”

He stands, pushing his chair back with one heel. Tanner lifts his chin, looking up.

“And then after a game,” Martin says, “if I was good, everyone else is so loud and—I love it, I always want the win, right? But I also want to make it quiet again. I want to slow everyone down and show them how it feels.”

Tanner nods, just a tiny fraction of movement.

“I could do that for you,” Martin says. “If it’s not just about Mike, if it’s what you want—”

Tanner says, “Okay,” sliding from the edge of the bed, onto the floor. On his knees.

 

+1.

Martin puts his hand in Tanner’s hair. He was confident coming up to the room to talk, but he wasn’t totally sure he’d be able to convince Tanner.

“I don’t have any rope with me,” he says.  Tanner huffs out a laugh, breath hot against Martin’s hip. “But I know how I want to tie you up, if you’ve got something else we can use.”

Tanner says, “Belt, top left dresser drawer.” He stands up and starts stripping his clothes off.

There are three belts in the drawer. Martin’s heart beats hot in his ears, heavy in his spine as he stares down at them. He picks the two that feel softest, most flexible. “I saw a photo,” he says. “Do you want me to tell you or just do it?”

“Just do it,” Tanner says.

When Martin looks back up, Tanner’s stepping out of his boxers, kicking them into the corner. Martin crowds Tanner closer to the bed, kissing him, shoving the comforter to the floor. He pushes Tanner down, moving him around until he’s on his back, spread out.

He’s seen this. They’ve done this much before. But it was a wild mess, and it was just the one time, and Tyler was there, and it was all a little too good to seem true. This feels very real. Tanner’s long legs are splayed open on the sheets, a splotchy bruise at the bottom of his rib cage. Sunlight streaks through the sheer drapes, and Tanner’s casually drumming the tips of his fingers lightly on his stomach as he watches Martin get naked.

“Do you have a safeword?” Martin asks as he uncoils the first belt. He hasn’t used one of those before, either, but he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to ask.

“I know how to say no,” Tanner says.

Martin tugs Tanner’s hands down to rest at his sides. He wraps the middle of one belt around Tanner’s left wrist. Then he lifts Tanner’s leg up off the bed, slides one end of the belt under his thigh, and brings the other end back over Tanner’s leg, threading it through the buckle. He pulls until Tanner’s pinned, wrist bound against the outside flank of his upper thigh, and fastens it tight.

Then he does the right side.

It’s not as sturdy as if he had real wrist and thigh cuffs and tied those together, but he thinks it should hold. He loops his fingers around one of Tanner’s ankles and just looks. Tanner only has a little hair on his thighs, more on the backs than the fronts. The belt slashes across each pale leg, like black tape on white socks.

Even though all he’s really done is tie Tanner’s hands to his legs, and his feet are still free, Tanner is lying there like he’s totally immobilized. His cock is already hard and twitching on his stomach. His mouth is hanging open, breath short, his wide, flat tongue licking at the corner.

“You can talk, you know,” Martin says. “But you should try not to come.”

Tanner throws his head back a little and groans. “Okay,” he says, weakly. “I’ll try. Jesus, where did you see a photo like this?”

Martin might not have had the benefit of Mike Richards doing a live demonstration, but he knows how to Google.

“How does it feel?” he asks, instead of answering.

Tanner’s legs shift open a little wider, almost like he doesn’t even realize it, and he groans again. “Do I have to talk?” he asks. “Or can you just do whatever else you found on the internet?”

“If I want you to talk,” Martin says, surprised at how gruff and demanding he sounds. He could make Tanner spell out everything he wants done to him. He squeezes Tanner’s hipbone, pushing him into the mattress, and Tanner relaxes more, not resisting.

Martin digs his fingernails into the curve of Tanner’s ass. Tanner whimpers, so Martin does it again, scratching this time down Tanner’s thigh and then back up again, leaving pink trails in each direction. He does the right leg, too, because there’s something really satisfying about balancing both sides.

Tanner’s cock flinches and leaks and he tries to tug one hand towards it, yanking his leg up a few inches before he remembers how limited his range of motion is. “You can’t,” Martin says.

Tanner mumbles, “Sorry,” flattening his palm against his thigh and settling down.

“I can,” Martin reminds him, rubbing Tanner’s stomach, down to his groin, around the base of his dick. “I can do this all day. Watch you get all worked up. Make you wait. Is that what you like about being tied up?”

“Uggh,” Tanner says, neck loose on his shoulders.

“Or is it about how I can fuck you however I want and you just have to take it?”

Tanner grunts. His eyes are closed.  Martin touches his face.

“Open,” he says, and Tanner blinks up at him. It’s such a rush, the immediate obedience of such a simple request. Martin smiles down, holds Tanner’s face in his palm. He thinks about what it’s like out there when he’s all alone in the crease, searching inside himself. “You want to forget where you are or forget everything else?”

“Both,” Tanner says, raw. “All—all of it, everything.”

Martin ducks his head and kisses Tanner’s throat, his chest, biting over each nipple while Tanner squirms underneath him. He slides back on the bed until he’s resting between Tanner’s legs and dips down to take the head of Tanner’s cock into his mouth, no warning. He swirls his tongue around once and then takes his mouth away, making his way down the soft flesh of Tanner’s thighs, sliding a finger under the belt and back out, squeezing the back of Tanner’s knees and licking the knob of bone inside each ankle.

He looks up Tanner’s long body. Tanner’s eyes are still open and he’s staring back, even though he has to lift his head up to do it. He’s watching Martin attentively, and Martin’s hit by a wave of doubt, a paralyzing fear of being in way over his fucking head.

Of course Mike Richards is capable of turning Tanner inside out. Mike wins at everything, literally, that he’s ever done. Martin didn’t even realize how much he wanted a chance to try this himself until like a week ago, and here Tanner is, naked and tied up and waiting. Waiting for Martin to make good on how he swore he knew how to do this.

He leans back, swallowing hard. Tanner tries to push up on his elbows, but there’s not enough leverage for that, either. Tanner’s abs sharpen into focus as he sits up, holding himself at an angle, wrists still belted to his thighs.

“What?” Tanner asks. His torso trembles a little but Martin knows how strong Tanner is, that he isn’t anywhere close to falling back.

Unless Martin tells him to. Martin can tell him, and he’ll do it, whatever it is. That’s how this works. That’s what they’re doing.

“Down,” he says, and Tanner lowers himself, one centimeter at a time, until he’s flat on the bed.

Martin breathes in deep and exhales through his nose. He can just ask. He wants to be considerate, to take care of Tanner, not just boss him around for the sake of it. He can ask something specific, a preference. It’s not like asking permission.

He runs one hand up Tanner’s calf. “Do you want me to fuck you on your back or your front?”

“Front,” Tanner says, fast and grateful. “Face down.” Martin squeezes around the base of Tanner’s cock and Tanner adds, “Please,” sounding desperate again. Like he needs focus, like he needs Martin to help him find that quiet.

Martin says, “Turn over.”  Tanner tries to roll on his side, but it’s awkward with both hands pinned. Martin wants to take it back. “Stop,” he says. Tanner freezes. Martin climbs up the bed more, takes Tanner by the shoulders, and pushes him over and onto his stomach.

The way he’s got Tanner tied up—there wasn’t a photo of what it would look like from the back, and Martin has to pause for a minute, hand tight around his own cock, to take it all in. Tanner’s calves have a little color, tapering up to an almost shockingly white ass. Above the waist he has a very, very slight tan, a little more on his arms. The back of his neck, though, is dark from the sun and smooth, hair cut neat and short. He’s pressing his forehead to the mattress, breathing through his mouth. His hips are flush to the bed. The black leather belts look more severe from behind, like they’re actually keeping his legs open.

Martin grabs a pillow from up by the headboard, pulls up Tanner’s hips and slides it under his stomach, raising his back a couple inches. He puts one hand on each side of Tanner’s ass and spreads it apart, just a little. He rubs one thumb close to the hole but not quite on it, just to watch how Tanner’s body moves. It’s pretty great—Tanner moans and kind of shakes his legs out, curling his shoulders inward. Martin licks his thumb and does it again, closer this time to the rim, and Tanner pushes his dick against the pillow.

“Stop,” Martin says again, and Tanner whines but complies.

The time he slept with Tanner and Tyler was in this room, so he knows which side of the bed the condoms and lube are stashed on. Maybe he’s supposed to take longer, stretch this part longer, but he’s already on edge.  He’d like to actually fuck Tanner and not come his brains out the second he gets inside.

He’s two fingers deep when he stops to wonder if maybe he should have asked again, asked if this is really how Tanner wants it, if his arms are okay or if his shoulders are cramping, if this is how Mike did it or there’s some other, better way Martin has no idea about.

“Joner, please,” Tanner sighs, pushing back into Martin’s hand.

Martin says, “Please what.”  It comes out sounding ruder than he means it, but of the two of them on this bed, only one guy’s done something like this before, and it’s not Martin. It’s like a bigger, scarier version of how he felt that first night Toff came to his room, stripping his clothes off, all but daring Martin to fuck him. And Martin wasn’t going to say no, but barely knew how to say yes.

He feels Tanner inhale deep, steadying, and breathe out again. He tilts his head to the side so he can speak. “Please, I need you to fuck me,” Tanner says, clear and even. “Even harder than you did last time, okay?”

Martin surges up the bed, covering Tanner’s body with his own, mouth on the back of that neck he’s spent so long staring at during games. He doesn’t have to wonder any more, or wait, or ask anything else. Tanner turns his face up and Martin kisses him until the angle’s too awkward, and then he licks and bites his way down Tanner’s spine, into the swell of his hip. The metal buckle of one belt is cool against Martin’s chin.

More lube, more fingers. Tanner moans Martin’s name and mostly manages not to hump the bed, and then Martin’s rolled on the condom and slicked up his cock and Tanner’s begging, low and constant, saying, “please, fuck, please.”  Martin lines himself up and puts his hands over Tanner’s, the leather hot and sweaty now between his palms and Tanner’s legs, and pushes in.

Tanner just takes it, breathing hard but still talking, begging, as if Martin would ever stop now, would stop fucking hard into Tanner, harder than he’s ever dared fuck someone. The mattress is wheezing with every thrust, bed clunking against the nightstand, but everything else in his head so perfectly quiet, a simple rhythm, a smooth incline of increasing urgency.

Then Tanner’s thighs stutter closed. Martin’s knees are trapped between them. He hisses, “Stop, fuck, do I need to tie your ankles to your hands, too?” and Tanner shouts as he comes, clenching down on Martin’s cock.

And that’s it, a roar echoing through Martin’s head as he comes, too, slumping over Tanner. He loses some time, then, with nothing but Tanner’s steady breaths beneath him, mouth open between Tanner’s shoulderblades, ankles hanging off the bed.

After a while, Tanner lifts his head. “Wow,” he says, a dopey grin wide across his face.

Martin laughs into Tanner’s skin, relief sweeping through him. “Yeah?” he asks. There’s still a little bubble of anxiety bouncing around his chest, second-guessing every move he made, but he’ll take a good, sex-stoned _wow_ if he can get it.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Tanner says, emphatic, dropping his cheek back to the bed. “I, uh, can’t really feel my hands so much, though.”

“Oh shit,” Martin says, and he pulls out way faster than he means to. Tanner sucks in a tight breath, and Martin dumps the condom on the floor and says, “Shit, sorry, sorry,” as he unbuckles each belt, rubbing at Tanner’s wrists.

“It’s cool,” Tanner says, rolling over on his back and stretching out his arms the width of the bed.

Martin sits on his heels, knee pressed to Tanner’s hip, and runs a finger along the red imprint left across Tanner’s thigh. There’s a purple mark he sucked into the skin there, too. “I mean, I know I’m no Mike Richards,” he says, “but maybe—”

“No,” Tanner says, “don’t even.”

He pushes himself up against the headboard, and Martin lets his hand slide down Tanner’s leg until his hand loosely lands on Tanner’s ankle. Eventually he looks Tanner in the eye, and Tanner blinks back, slow and easy. Calm.

“I liked it like this,” Tanner says, “with you. Richie is—he’s intense, and kind of all in his own head, and I wouldn’t have known what the hell to say if he asked me how I wanted to do it.”

“He didn’t ask?” Martin isn’t sure if he’s more confused, or offended somehow on Tanner’s behalf, or dismayed to realize he really shouldn’t have needed to.

“Not really,” Tanner says. “Like I sort of threw the idea out there and then he just told me what to do. But—” He reaches out for Martin, leaning forward so he can put one warm palm flat on Martin’s chest. “I liked how you asked,” he says, voice soft. “Like it was—it was both of us, figuring it out.”

Martin pushes up on his knees and bends in to kiss Tanner, flush and tight with feeling. “Starting to, anyway,” he says.

Tanner bites at Martin’s bottom lip and says, “Yeah, we’ll get there.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's always more of this kind of thing at my [Tumblr](http://dazzlingheroes.tumblr.com).
> 
> ETA: And there's [a tiny little epilogue posted here](http://dazzlingheroes.tumblr.com/post/89902436673) [warning NSFW photo].


End file.
